


Reever Hates Gift Baskets, Or ‘If You Give a Lavi Liquor’

by animalboything



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animalboything/pseuds/animalboything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Science always gets the same gift basket every year. Well, except for THIS year.</p>
<p>A very old fic I found kicking around. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reever Hates Gift Baskets, Or ‘If You Give a Lavi Liquor’

Reever Hates Gift Baskets

Or ‘If You Give a Lavi Liquor’

 

 

            Every year, the scientists at the Black Order would receive a gift to accompany their meager bonus. For the past six years that Reever worked there, it had been a generic gift basket, the same contents offered to each employee with no distinction save for a name tag. It was always a mildly disappointing time for the blond as he peeked through the contents – a box of Cuban cigars nestled against a bottle of fine bourbon. Reever hated smoking, and he never drank. Around that time of year, Reever became extra popular as he’d pass on those contents to whoever he felt was most deserving on the team. Reever would sigh in mild disdain as he picked through the few things he liked, or at least tolerated: a bag of pistachios, a box of chocolates, and a Rubix cube, although recently he found that to be utterly patronizing (he was able to get four out of six sides in seven minutes; Komui was able to get all six in three. Bastard.)

            A year came and went, the exact same basket offered despite Reever’s not-subtle hints about maybe trying something else, that the department shouldn’t waste their money on him. That, instead, what he really wanted were boat tickets so he could go home for a holiday. Komui was utterly opposed to that, citing that the department needed him. Reever wouldn’t doubt that—there was chaos when he was there, so surely more when he wasn’t—but he couldn’t help but wonder if Komui was trying to protect him from the fact that he probably _didn’t_ have a home anymore. 

            Yet there he was, sitting at his desk, in front of yet another enormous gift basket.

             “Hey, Leader Reever!"

            “Hn?” Reever turned on his swivel chair, nodding once at Russell. “Hey, Russell. What’s up?” 

            “All of us are going to the pub. Not sure if you’d be interested, but thought I’d extend the invite.” 

            Reever shook his head, but smiled. He wasn’t surprised. After all, who wouldn’t go to a bar and pay for liquor after receiving some for _free_? Alcohol logic. “Ah, no thanks. Have fun.” 

            “Will do. And hey, you should investigate the basket – they got new stuff this year. See you.”

Reever’s attention was immediately withdrawn away from the retreating form as he tore the paper around the gift basket off and dug in. He soon stopped. Then stared.

            There wasn’t a box of Cuban cigars nor a bottle of fine bourbon.

            There was a smoking pipe with a pouch of Dutch tobacco and a bottle of Ice Wine.

Reever bashed his head against the desk and moaned. “God damn it!”

          “Oi, Reever-leader!” Lavi called from the door, a wink offered beneath the elastic brim of his eye patch. “You put meaning to the term ‘head-desk’?”

            “Nhn.”

            “That, too. Or was that more a snore? Because I can keep talking to myself.”

            “Sorry. Not a great mood toda-”

            “Hi Lavi, how are you? Oh, I think I’m doing quite well, Lavi, and you? Oh, very fine. Beautiful day, hn?”

            “I get the poi-”

            “-Oh! What do you think of Leader Reever? He’s a bit down, don’t you think? Why, yes, I do think Reever’s down. Do you think it’s because he received a bad gift again? It must be. Pity he doesn’t like bourbon. Yes, pity.”

            Reever couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. “You can cut it out – I get the hint.” He withdrew the pipe, tobacco, and wine. “It’s actually different this year. Knock yourself out.”

            “Sweet! Reever, you rock, man.”

            “I didn’t think you were much of a drinker,” Reever said, rocking back in his chair.

            “I’m not,” Lavi replied, helping himself to the seat across from Reever’s desk, boot-covered feet lifting to rest on the wooden surface, one over the other as his fingers linked behind his head. “But Bookman is.”

            “… you want my alcohol to give to Bookman?” Reever asked, blinking once incredulously, and twice perplexed. “For the love of God, _why?_ ”

            A mischievous smile was offered with singsong rhyme: “If a Reever is sullen because he received the equivalent to beer, a Lavi appears. If you give a Lavi liquor, he’ll booze up Bookman. When a Bookman is boozed, he’ll smoke a pipe or two. When Bookman’s trashed, he’ll give a promotion to you-know-who.”

            “… that was completely nonsensical and the dumbest thing I’ve heard in my life.” Reever shook his head. “What the hell are you on, and please say Komui doesn’t have any?”

           Lavi bent over, laughing hard as he reached for the pipe. “Well, if you’re going to make a deal about it, I’ll keep this for myself. You don’t smoke? Asthma?” 

            “Just don’t like it.”

            “And for the booze? Alcoholic?”

            “Just don’t like it.”

            “Well, you’re awfully boring – don’t you do anything for fun in your free time?”

            “You’re assuming that I have free time,” Reever sighed, reaching for his glasses case. “Adding the Commander’s work to my research, chemistry equations and experiments, I barely get four hours sleep a night.” Lavi allowed a long whistle to escape his lips.

            “Damn. Sucks to be you.”

            “Thanks for the memo,” Reever replied, glancing up as he unfolded the black wire rims and slid them over his ears. “Come for anything else, or just swiping my discard pile?”

            “Well, now that you’re bringing it up…”

            “… oh?” The blond’s face lit up for a moment in anticipation. Maybe this year would be different.

            “… can I borrow a few bucks?”

 

***

 

            Night came and went, but the light of early morning hadn’t yet started to rise. Reever was still in his office, arms folded on his desk, brim of the glasses cutting into the side of his face in deep sleep. The loud and boisterous laughter of his co-workers wafted through the hallways, rising him with a start. He tugged off his glasses as he felt for a compact mirror, something, anything to see the damage that Lavi would have undoubtedly done in his sleep; the boy was far too known for his pranks, even being daring enough to braid Kanda’s hair and draw a penis on Krory’s cheek – ‘LAVI’S DICK’ written above it in garish letters.

            But there wasn’t the slightest bit of evidence – no shaved head, no pink hair, no “Property of Komui,” just… nothing.

            Reever wasn’t sure whether he was more relieved, or disappointed.

            He ruffled his hand through his hair as he turned his desk chair, eyes widening slightly at the wrapped box on the corner.

            “To: Reever,” he read aloud, lifting up the small card.

            “If you give a Lavi liquor, he will ask the boss to give you a break. And if you give a Lavi liquor, he’ll think you’re really great. If you give a Lavi liquor, and add tobacco to the mix, a Lavi will want to treat you to dinner and a night out. So since you gave a Lavi liquor, and even if you didn’t, you’re invited to the brewery with great fish ‘n chips, alcohol only optional to those desiring the fix. So please consider this offer from a daringly handsome, and conveniently single, boy even though you’re a man eight years older, and meet him at seven. P.S. Open the box – you deserve what you really want.”

            The man stared at the card, finger and thumb pinching it together.

            A date.

             With a man.

            An exorcist.

            The next Bookman.

             _Lavi_ of all people.

            …

            “Sweet!” Reever said, mood drastically improved as he moved to the carefully wrapped box, wasting no time as he tore the paper off, index fingers sliding beneath the box’s sides to lift off the top.

            “… you’ve got to be SHITTING me!”

            For inside was a black and red laced corset and thong, and another card placed on the top.

             “P.S.S. I raided your ‘panty’ drawer to find out your tastes. Nice selection!”

            Some things would never change – poorly chosen gifts, unpredictable machines, Lavi’s temperament but, as Reever was pinned to his bed later that evening, he thought that maybe these things weren’t so bad.

            Besides, Lavi had good taste – neither corset, garter, or thong chafed!


End file.
